


The Life of a Burrower

by MommaRaindrop



Category: Original Work
Genre: Didn't know where else to post this, For the Orycto Shimmer Skin, From Beasts Of Bermuda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26099119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MommaRaindrop/pseuds/MommaRaindrop
Summary: The first year of a young oryctodromeus' life.For Beasts Of Bermuda's Orycto Shimmer skin challenge!





	The Life of a Burrower

A pair of burrowers, watching over their eggs, chattering and chirping, waiting for the clutch of 5 to hatch. They both go silent, hearing a small chirp come from the nest, followed by a crunch and a small beak peeking out of the shell of the smallest egg. The parents coo, calling to the first of the five, encouraging them to escape the egg and join them, which the young tries to do, struggling against the shell, finally getting their head out, taking a break.

Soon, the small one is free from the egg, resting in the nest, exhausted from having to break through the shell. The parents lean down, nudging and cooing, sniffing their first young, their son. The son eventually sits up, looking up at his parents, and the quills along his mothers back shake in happiness. He stands, attempting to take his first steps, and makes it three steps closer to his parents before tripping over his own feet, making his parents chirp in worry and snuffle against him again. He stands, starting to try again, this time reaching his parents before he slumps down and leans against his father, looking at the nest as his parents turn their attention back to it.

The parents stay there for another week, chirping and trying to encourage the other eggs to hatch. Their son steadily gets stronger and stronger, growing quickly, and they begin teaching him how to dig, so he can begin searching for potatoes to eat without risking going to the surface. The son is currently digging, searching for a few potatoes, having only found one so far and still a bit hungry, when he hears a screech of alarm come from the main chamber- What’s happening? 

The son runs back into the chamber, seeing his father struggling with a large feathered creature he’s never seen before- His mother is standing over the nest, quills shaking in an attempt to scare off the threat, to keep the eggs safe from it. The son squeals, taking the creatures attention off his father and putting it onto him, and more importantly, giving him the chance to toss sand directly into his attackers eyes, making it screech in pain and scratch at them, stepping off his father and smacking into the wall, blind. His father takes the distraction as an opportunity- launching at the attacker, locking his sharp beak onto the feathered neck.

The roar that comes from the threat is pained and panicked, having thought this would have been an easy raid of a nest, that the parents wouldn’t have fought back, and the son watches as a clawed foot kicks out- directly into his fathers chest, making the large burrower flinch, grip on the attackers neck releasing, allowing the blood to flow freely from the wound in its neck. It makes it about half way to the burrows entrance before collapsing, feathered and clawed hands and feet scratching desperately at the ground to escape, becoming weaker by the second, before it finally stills. The puddle of red around it grows, and the son chatters, short quills shaking- he’d helped! No one but the danger had died, and-

The thump he hears from where his father had been makes his thoughts stop and he turns around, seeing his fathers slumped form, and hearing the heaving breaths coming from him makes the son panic. He scrambles over, nudging his head against his fathers, watching the red growing from his chest become a larger stain around him. No, no, they won the fight, didn’t they? His father is going to be fine, right? He looks at his mother, seeing the fear in her eyes as she watches the one she’d loved for the past year, was supposed to love for the rest of her life, struggling to hold onto life- They may have won the fight, but he might not win this one. 

The father holds on for days- Just barely, his breathing heavy, barely able to eat through the pain in his chest. He watches as the pair he loves drag the body out of the burrow, throwing dirt over the stain on the floor, and watches them carry in the rare crystals they find for him to chew on. They hear large steps walk over the burrow, snuffling at the entrance, and then the crunching of bones above- something must have found the body. Luckily, it leaves the family’s burrow alone.

Eventually, he’s able to sit up, call weakly to his mate and child, and watch them come into the chamber from foraging for the tubers they all love so much. Seeing his father sitting up makes the son drop the potatoes he was carrying and rush over, pressing against his fathers neck and chattering happily, quills shaking, the rattle calming the father- He hears the steps of the female he loves step up, and then another head presses against his own, another set of rattling quills joining the sons, making him rattle his own back, although weakly. 

It’s been two weeks since the attack, and the other eggs haven’t shown any sign of hatching. The large pair look down at the eggs, hope waning. They’re happy they got their son out of this clutch- but they had hoped to have a larger family. It would have made the next season easier for them. They gently grab an egg each, taking them out of the burrow and further away- if they’re not going to hatch, then they shouldn’t be rotting in the chamber, something to bring another one of those nest raiders when the father is still so weak. They head down, grab the other pair of eggs, and take them out too. 

The son has grown fast- They’ve taken lots of traits from their father, but also a few from their mother. They’re larger, able to carry more sand with their larger arms, and they have the sharp beak of their father. He has the large eyes of his mother letting him see better in the burrow, the long legs that allow them to run faster and further, and the sharp claws that allow him to dig through the dirt faster. The parents are proud- They were hoping for a large family, but are glad they got their son. 

The father is fully healed, the only evidence of the fight for his life a large scar on his chest and a patch of missing scales around it. The mother sometimes presses her head against the scar, eyes closed, just happy that he survived. The son will often join these moments, taking in the silence with his head pressed to his fathers neck, glad to have both his parents. 

There’s always a fear present in him that one of his parents will be taken away from him- which is why, one day, he sizes up to his father and scratches at the ground with a foot, inviting his father to fight, but his quills are flat, a sign of not wanting to actually harm the other- practice, so they’re both stronger for the next battle that’s sure to come. 

His father stands, looking at his son, before turning to him and scratching the ground back, quills also flattened. That’s all it takes- The son launches himself at his father, but is swiftly slammed into the ground by the larger and more experienced male. The father keeps him pinned under his foot for a second and then steps off, moving back and letting the son stand. This continues for a few more tries, the son getting better with each fight, until finally the son gets a good shove in and manages to pin his father. 

The practice battles soon become a common occurrence, the mother watching and ensuring things never go too far and they’re never hurt too badly, at most bruised. The father also gets better, both of them getting stronger and stronger with each battle, each fight being extremely close, and when they learn something new the other learns how to counter it quickly.

Soon enough, the rainy season arrives- meaning the young son is nearly a year old. The parents are used to the rain, but their son is unsure- why are there loud noises? Why are his parents not scared of the bright flashes he can see coming through the burrows entrance? Is the water that’s entering the burrow going to continue coming in? The parents eye the water, visibly uneasy- normally the floods don’t start until later in the season, but they’re early this year. Sure enough, soon the water is at their ankles, and the parents chirp, calling for their son to follow them as they head to the entrance of the burrow, slipping out, the son scrambling after them. He rarely ever leaves the burrow unless it’s for water- the tubers they eat are more than enough to keep him full. 

He looks at the fairly familiar surroundings, watches the trees bend in the strong wind and the rain pelting against him making him uncomfortable. They move along the edge of the mountain their burrow is under, trying to keep the rain off themselves as best as possible, and they huddle up against an outcropping of rock that keeps most of the wind and rain off them. This might be a bad storm, so they hunker down, keeping an eye out in case something tries to take advantage of the storm flushing them out of the safety of their burrow.

Eventually, the rain dies down, and they go to check their burrow, seeing the main chamber nearly half full of water- it’s going to be a while before they can go back in, and the ground is too wet to let them make another burrow while they wait for the main one to dry. Guess they’re staying at the outcrop for a while.

They stay there for a while, before hearing multiple large steps off in the distance- they all shift further back into the darkness, trying to stay hidden, ready to bolt, watching where they can hear the steps coming from. Suddenly, a crested head appears over the edge of the hill, looking around and making a soft call. The parents perk up- the crested ones are good for warning of danger! Two more heads pop up- a larger crested male and a tiny head with a tiny crest. A family! 

They watch as another head starts to appear, followed by a neck, and more neck, and more. The long neck- They’re strong and good for protection, but their feet are dangerous. They’ve seen others of their kind be thrown by them and they rarely ever survive it. They’ll have to be weary around it- but the fact there’s now a herd is great news! The parents slowly move out of the outcrop, chattering, drawing the attention of the crested male. It watches them for a moment, looking at the still flooded burrow and then back at them before making a soft call. They’ve been accepted!

He watches his parents run over, slowly moving out and following after them. Are these other creatures not dangerous? They won’t hurt them like the feathered one did? He walks up to the small crested baby, sniffing at it, and the baby looks back at them. It chirps, turning and running away a bit, then turns to look back at the son. He pauses- What’s it doing? He watches it stamp its foot and run in a small circle. Does.. does it want to play?

He steps after it, watching as it runs a bit away again, chirping and staring back at him. He chatters, following after it, slowly moving up to running after it, jumping around and shaking his quills happily as they romp around, the crested pair watching them play while the tall one lays down, watching the sky and the area around them to make sure nothing walks up on them. The burrowing pair settle next to the crested ones, watching the young pair play until they exhaust themselves and move to lay against their respective parents. 

The group soon falls asleep, watched over by the tall one.


End file.
